Habits  of a day
by natalone09
Summary: Two people live in a house, avoiding the world, each for different reasons. A man with special habits in the morning. A woman with the strength to face difference. Compromise or fate? AH, Short chapters, a little dark. Adult themes.
1. Morning habits

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter One****:** Morning habits.

It's 6.30 in the morning. Time to get ready for breakfast.

A quick shower and fresh underwear. It is cold and I pick a dark blue sweater and a gray knee high skirt. I do not bother with stockings, just put on my comfortable flats and take a look at the large, whole length mirror of my bathroom. Just me. Plain, thin, pale, no make up or perfume. Just me, every morning.

I would prefer a pair of sweatpants and a cotton shirt, but I am not allowed to wear them. He does not like them.

At 6.55 exactly I hear the main door. He is back from running. I wait a little, till I can hear him in his bedroom, and then I walk out of my room. It is exactly under his, next to the kitchen.

I take the small envelope he had left for me the previous night on the kitchen counter. Every night, there were specific details about breakfast. Today it is strawberry jelly, his favorite. The coffee is black, always black and a very special order. I have to deliver it every week from an expensive coffee shop. The mix of coffee, walnuts, and cinnamon was filling the air of the kitchen, every morning.

I put everything on the usual tray and wait.

At 7.15 I can hear him coming down the stairs. I take the tray and leave the kitchen. I enter the room behind the stairs. The one I call "The breakfast room." It is more like a studio. Wooden floors, and windows that reach the ceiling. And green, so much green. The trees of the forest around the house seem to be in that room. The youngest of them have the color of his eyes. Vivid green. And silence. The privilege to be far from other people, the reason I am here.

He is sitting behind his desk, looking outside. It is a sunny day despite the cold. He is reading something on his laptop, possibly the news. His mood is unreadable, like most mornings. He is beautiful, like every morning.

I put the tray on the desk but not in front of him. I wait until he speaks. My hair, freshly washed and down, as every morning. He lifts his gaze and then pushes the computer at the end of the desk, opposite from the tray. He breaths deeply and closes his eyes for just a second. When he opens them they are different. The green in them is different, darker, almost black. And I know he will finally speak.

"Sit on the desk," he says and backs his chair, leaving more space for me to move. I do as he asks. He is looking again outside. I watch him turn his head towards the tray and then at me. He saw I had followed his orders. Strawberry today. Strawberry for the jelly, for my shampoo and my soap.

He breaths hard and cleans his hands with the warm wet towel I was also asked to put on the tray. I wait.

"Now, spread your legs Isabella...please." I do it. It is not the first time. It won't be the last.

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**A/N: I have to clear this out: ****THIS IS NOT A BDSM story.** **Please tell me what you think. Thanks for reading.**


	2. My morning habits

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Two**: " My"morning habits.

It's 7.45 in the morning. I am leaving the breakfast room.

I am wearing a comfortable brown robe-dress, soft Kashmir. I put the tray on the kitchen counter, throw the remains in the trash can, and put the empty items in the dish washer. The need to have my self cleaned up again leads me straight to my room. A private bathroom was a great relief for someone who had to share a shower with fifty more persons, every day.

Privacy, another reason for staying here.

My bathroom is extremely clean. I keep it extremely clean. Nobody enters here. Not even the trees. It is more of a room itself. A nice tube and a separate shower. Beautiful Italian tiles and wood. And a window. That window has a view to the forest. But, I need my privacy. Nobody enters here, not even the forest. The shutters open only at night.

I strip. Hot water runs in the shower. My underwear have a color similar to the dress, a little darker brown. I throw them to the laundry basket and get under the water. I take my time. "My" morning is just starting.

After "my" shower, I smell just...me. It was chocolate cake today, with orange flavor. He just smelled it, didn't eat it. Like most mornings, he only had coffee from the tray. And me.

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews and the alerts. Thank you for reading.


	3. When he is gone

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Three**: When he is gone.

It's 6.30 in the morning. No breakfast today. There was no envelope on the kitchen counter last night. He is probably gone already.

It happens once or twice a month. He leaves and I stay here all by myself. The only thing I have to do before he leaves, is to write down whatever I need for the house and for me. He takes my list before his departure and never asks or comments about it.

He is usually out the whole day. I will probably see him next morning. I never write something more than the basic stuff for groceries. Each time he brings me something personal. Clothes, soaps, even underwear and towels. The last time it was a hairbrush, but not something you could buy at any store. It was more like an old vintage piece from an antique shop. I never bothered telling him that I was okay with everything I already have, which is more than I need. It was in our agreement. He brings, I take and that's all.

We rarely talk. Most days he stays in that office. The longest we spend together in the same room is during breakfast. Exactly thirty minutes. The rest of the day I can do whatever I want and go wherever I want. But I never leave. Despite his strange habits, I feel safe here.

Security. The house is protected with alarms and a security service. When he is out, a car is inspecting the perimeter of the property. I didn't know the reason of such a precaution, but it worked for me. I was feeling safe and had my privacy.

And clean.

Everything is clean here. The air, the house, the owner. And everything is pretty...Everything. I spend the day cleaning and taking care of the garden. He had only asked me to prepare his breakfast when he brought me here. The rest was my choice to do. He never stopped me.

I will read today. The first goal I have put since...forever. To finish a book.

**A/N: **Thank you.


	4. The difficult days

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Four**: The difficult days.

It's 11.30 in the night. This time is my turn to leave an envelope on the kitchen counter. My difficult days of the month have started. He will only have coffee for breakfast, I won't be needed.

The first day is always extremely difficult for me. Since I was a teenager, I was suffering every month. My stomach could not tolerate much food and I was usually craving for some pasta and tea. I only go with the second. The first time I got sick in this house, I threw up in the kitchen sink. He had insisted I should go and see a specialist but I had refused. I was used to it. He didn't seem disgusted.

The loss of blood is making me more pale. I stay in bed till late. Cramps. They are killing me. I had used different kinds of drugs in the past but they were still strong. The pain is excruciating. I am curled with my hands on my stomach and cry. I have to wait a few more hours.

At about 5.00 in the afternoon I feel better. I can see him through the curtains, sitting outside. The back deck has a marvelous view towards the river. Al nature. I push the curtain aside for two seconds and I can see his head. His bronze mess of hair is like a fine touch of paint on a green scenery. I relax. He is there, near. I am safe, and warm, and tired. I had refused to a TV in my room. I really didn't need to know about anything.

I try to read, but the first page is enough. I finally sleep.

**A/N: **I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you.


	5. The dark days

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Five**: The dark days.

Yesterday he asked for tea. I knew what that meant. He will be drunk.

I open the door and see him standing in front of the large central window. The room is darker than usual. The huge curtains are covering every glass surface, except from that window. He turns, and I can see he is still holding a glass, half filled with an amber liquid. Scotch, old, with a rich smell. The smell itself was disgusting the first time he was like that. I got used to it later.

I know he had not slept...At all. His hair is a lot messier than usual. His shirt is wrinkled, the same he wore yesterday. The sleeves are unbuttoned and they hung loosely over his hands. He is still more than beautiful. No darkness can hide such beauty.

And this is a darkness I can handle. He makes sure I can. Another reason I am still here.

He turns and stares at me. I also stare and wait, standing beside the office. He closes the distance between us with slow steps, leaving the glass on the office on his way, his stare never leaves my eyes. He looks tired. A dark shade make his eyes look deep, the lack of sleep more evident than every other time.

He takes the tray and puts it on the desk, as usual at the end.

"Thank you for the tea." His voice is husky, deep and a little seductive. There was never romance during our morning encounters. Just need and desperation. This time he is different.

I expect to put me on the desk but he doesn't. He takes my hand and softly caresses it, like he touches it for the first time.

"So soft," he murmurs,"So clean."

Suddenly he is kneeling in front of me and gently pulls me by my hips on him. His head is resting just under my belly and I can feel him breath deeply through the soft cotton of my robe. His note was brief the other night, "Tea and the light blue robe."

I expect him to just open the robe and complete our routine.

He surprises me.

"Do you want to?"

**A/N: **Thank you. Should I continue this? If you have something to say about the story, please leave some words. There are things I will explain. This is just their routine.


	6. Dark nights & Black mornings

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Six**: Dark nights and Black mornings.

11.30 in the evening. I open the envelope for tomorrow's breakfast. It only says "Black" and nothing else. That usually comes after the days he is absent, like today...and the day before. On our last encounter he had not asked me if _I wanted to_, he had just looked me straight in the eyes and I had said _yes. _We were both new to this but I was grateful we were not discussing about it.

No discussions or explanations. Another reason I stay here.

I read more than one page and then I close my eyes. I usually do not dream. In fact, I make sure I am tired enough to be unable to dream. But...we all know dreams are unexpected guests. In my case, they are not welcomed also.

In my dream, I am five years old and I am running in a beautiful forest. I am running, and running, and running, and it feels like the forest has no end. Suddenly I hear someone calling "Bellaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa", but the voice is fainting. I am not scared. The voice is familiar and friendly. Everything is familiar. I suddenly turn my head and I can see a lot of people looking at me with disgust. I am no longer five. I look at my self and I freeze. I am wearing nothing and I am barefoot. And they all look at me, and I cannot hide. I realize this is not real but I can't get out of the dream, it is like it has swallowed me and I have no strength to run, talk, scream. And then it is over.

I get up and go next to the window. I need some air.

~0~

6.30 and my alarm is going crazy. I am usually awake one or two minutes earlier and shut it down before the time I always set. I hate clocks. I hate time measurement with devices. It is amazing how the lack of a watch can make such a difference in someones life. More than 70 days of isolation, in a 9sq meters room, can make you realize how much time is relevant. That was when I learned how to measure my day according to the sun position. A sun coming from a tiny opening on the wall. It was more than a sunbeam, a straight line of light. It's appearance was the most important second of my day.

Today I only have coffee and the usual warm towel on the tray. I wear a black silk robe and black underwear. They are also silk. He is usually hungrier after his trips, or whatever keeps him away. I don't ask...I don't care.

Today he waits for me next to the window. He is casually dressed, a plain black shirt and jeans. This is not his routine. He turns and looks at me, and offers me his hand. I take it and he slowly leads me flushed against him. He gently pushes me against the wall, next to the window. I can feel the soft fabric of the curtain behind my head and his hands on my waist. He is kneeling again and I can see the now familiar look on his eyes. The question. This time I just nod. I want this today.

I am also hungry. Cause I missed him...

He opens the robe and the silk runs effortless on my skin. No perfumed products today. Just me.

I can feel him breathing my center over my panties. He is smooth but I know better. It is all a matter of seconds. The black silk is ripped in half and his hot breath replaces the protection of the fabric. His hands are caressing my thighs, first with circular little touches, then with more determined moves, always below the waist.

Then I feel it. The moist soft muscle around me, on me, inside me.

I am struggling to keep my moans inside my head. I gasp and I feel him responding. More pressure, faster, deeper, harder. His palms are moving up and down my thighs and then there is something new. He is heading higher and I can feel him on my behind, at first caressing, then feeling me with his large hands, pushing me more on him. I push me head back and, as my release is approaching, I dare something new. I place my hands on his hair. It felt natural to do. Naturally, he reacted, pushing me up on the wall, my knees over his shoulders. The position is difficult and uncomfortable but the outcome of it is pleasure. Pure pleasure. I hear fabric reaping again, fabric covering my bare back, and light showering the room. The curtain is half hanging from the ceiling and half on us. He doesn't care.

My thirty minutes of breakfast were far behind. I don't care...

**A/N: **Thank you.


	7. Noon Rain

Repost Chapter 7, I have problems with the site. Hope you can read.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Seven**: Noon Rain.

I watch the rain falling like a curtain on the kitchen window. It is 12.30 but so dark for noon. Winter is the month I had missed more when I was leaving in Arizona. It is my first winter here. In fact, it is my first winter everywhere.

I put on the heavy coat he gave me last week. The tags are in Italian, but I can tell it is expensive. The first thing we had cleared out, when he brought me here, was about money. He gave me a card and told me to use it anyway I wanted. He also showed me were he kept cash. I could not understand all that...trust. I could take the money and leave. It was like he knew I wouldn't. The truth was...I wouldn't.

I go out without umbrella. He is in the breakfast room since last night. There was no envelope yesterday. I had stayed in bed more than usual, my book is now marked in the middle. This rain smells so different than I remember. Smells like snow, or at least as I thought snow smelled. I had not seen snow since I was four years old.

It is not as cold as I had assumed it would be. I stand on the front porch. There are a few inches between me and the rain. At first, I put my right hand under the drops. Then the left. I am not sure I like it. I finally take a step down and I can feel the drops on my hair. The feeling is odd. And I become a child again.

I become a 4yearsold child. That child someone left one day in a park and never bothered to come back and take it. That child who had played in the rain for hours and nobody had cared to shelter it, dry it, feed it for two more days. That child who had finally slept all alone in the playground, talking to the only doll she had with her, after exhaustion had slowly taken her body and mind. That day there was snow in that park, and everybody was running in and out of buildings, keeping parcels and bags. The park was deserted most of the day. That child was deserted for the rest of her life.

Years later the desert became a real one. I could see it from Arizona State Prison.

**A/N: **Thank you.


	8. Afternoons

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Eight**: Afternoons.

It's 5.30 in the afternoon. I am making dinner. My appetite has changed. I mostly go for vegetables. I like salads and soups, and I have my own way of cooking them. I can't eat anything from a can or a box, everything has to be fresh...everything has to be clean.

This place has a small garden. One more reason I stay here.

When I first came here that garden was abandoned. You could say there were good times in the past, but the remains of it were insignificant. I only needed some tools, fresh soil, and seeds. Luckily all I had to do was write it in my groceries list. All I asked was a few items, just to get started.

In two days I had no envelope but a key with the tag "Storage" on it. I knew were that was. I opened the small door of the little house in the garden and I felt like Santa had passed the other day. At least that was the usual way for other people to describe a great present.

There was never a letter for Santa from me and never something from Santa for me.

Today I am going to use broccoli and carrots for risotto. I like their colors. Orange and green. I recently found out there are amazing colors in reality. Some of them were only in my dreams. And you know what they say about dreams... They have no colors.

**A/N: **Hm. I see some readers are cancelling their alerts. Curious why... What is the problem with this story? Thank you.


	9. Observations

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Nine**: Observations.

She looks healthier these days. I wonder how much weight she has put on. The girl is still very thin, but she has changed, she looks more like a woman. She looks...better.

It has been almost eight months since they arrived. One afternoon, must have been late April or the first days of May, I got a phone call from Charlie, the chief of police. He had news.

_**8 months back**_

"_Jake, it's Charlie here, do you have a minute?"_

_I was on my way out but Charlie never called at work without a reason._

"_Of course, what's up Chief?"_

"_The Cullens are back," he told me and waited. He knew I would be surprised and not particularly happy about it._

"_So?" was my great response. They were here before, they still had their property in the forest. And...Charlie knew that the existence of that family was...bothering me._

"_It is one of the sons. You must have heard what happened to them..."_

_I could understand by the tone of his voice that he wanted something, and of course I knew what had happened. It was years back, but the papers had made a great noise about it. I had even kept some..._

"_I thought they were living east... I...I thought that all their sons were gone..." I had made a lot of assumptions, but I had finally almost forgotten about them...Almost. The rumors were still rumors._

"_Edward is back," he said. He had obviously guessed for whom my main concern was._

"_So, he is alive.." "Still" was the word that would appropriately finish my completely unnecessary conclusion, but I didn't let that slip. Charlie brought me back quickly._

"_He asked for a security service. You are the best in the area. If you can't..."_

_I paused for a while. I could feel he was a little uncomfortable at the end of the other line, but I needed some time to think. I had a feeling it would be an awkward deal, almost dangerous...but it was too late. I had to keep an eye on him, I would do it anyway..._

"_I can." I had no doubt about it...Charlie did though._

"_Jacob, you don't even know the whole deal, or the money..." he trailed off but I had made my discussion._

" _I bet you have all the details you want me to know and I will accept any offer concerning to money. He is just a guy chief, he barely needs security there, at least from people..." _

_There was a small pause on the line and then I heard him clearing his throat. That was not a good sign._

"_Well, it is not that simple. Edward Cullen called me two days ago. He is moving in back here. He needs security not for himself but for the lady who will be staying in his house. I assume she must be his wife, or fiance. He said nothing about children. So...Are you still interested?"_

**Present**

I was. I met Cullen a few days after Charlie had called. The meeting was brief. He wanted from me to keep an eye on the house and the girl, every time he would be out of town. Cause she looked like a girl and not a woman back then. She was not at the meeting and we were never introduced. The money were good...more than enough in fact. The only rule was to be very discreet and never bother her for no reason. In a few words, I had to be invisible.

I am here now, outside the house, and I can see her. She works in the garden. It is her everyday habit. How do I know? I am here everyday, at least once in the morning and late in the afternoon, when she is outside, working, reading, watering the plants.

I just don't get payed for everyday.

**A/N: **Constructive reviews are important. Thanks to those who pm'd me. I know this is a little confusing. Thank you.


	10. Glimpses of past

**The chapter with the note was replaced. This is chapter 10.**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Ten**: Glimpses of past.

It is 6.30, still dark, and I am already dressed. My morning duties are off this week but I have become a morning person. He left four days ago.

The days here were shorter than I was used to and their length had rapidly reduced when winter appeared. I had kept the habit of waiting for the first tiny line of light to appear from the mountains. Those tiny lines had saved my sanity during my staying in Arizona, or what was left of it. They were rarely visible here, so they were precious. They were giving life to nature...and a little to me.

Today the light is fighting on its way through some heavy clouds. Rain also gives life but it is me who will have to fight through it. I procrastinate that fight. I will stay in.

The night before his departure I got a different envelope. It was tiny, red, and there was a small card in it. I knew the handwriting. It could make a dirty napkin look expensive with just a note. So personal, so him. Two words, _"Your Attic."_

I had never seen the inside of that attic. In fact, I had only seen the ground floor and one of the rooms on the first floor. There were three more rooms. The two of them were locked.

I had kept the key but I did not know what to do with it. I had my own room, which was more than enough. What was the purpose of "my attic"?

The rain is giving me a hard time. Three days in a row. I feel trapped, but this prison is beautiful, I could make a crime so I could just come here.

I am standing again outside. The porch is a safe shelter. I am one step away from the rain and my usual hesitation feels like an invisible rope around my legs and arms, keeping me still, ready to hold me back. I nervously fumble with the key in my pocket. My book is now closed, finished, used. I have nothing interesting to do, and I have time...Too much time. I feel rich, then bold, then I turn and get inside. The key won.

I guess he knew. So many books, a whole library existed in there. Heavy curtains were filtering the light and protecting the silent tenants. Classic literature, medical editions, biographies, volumes about history, poetry and art. Most of them were filling old bookcases, lots of them were on the floor, some of them on a large table in the middle of the attic. A thin layer off dust is covering everything. There was no order or a specific place for each one, and I have time.

I work and it is not about obligation, it's about joy. It makes me feel good, worthy, human. The blood runs quickly in my system and, despite the cold, I feel I am burning. And I am, my old me is burning cause staying clean is not enough.

It is almost 3.00 in the afternoon and I am still working. I am on a ladder, finishing some of the highest shelves. It is full with books about arts. Painting, photography, dance, music. I pick a big volume about ballet. I was always fascinated by dancers. Their grace, the precision, the lightness of their movements, the healthy flexible bodies.

I forget everything else and just take the volume. I put is carefully on the large oak table and then I look at my self on a huge mirror. It is just opposite from me. I turn the pages and amazement is literally swallowing me. The pictures are beautiful. Two dancers, a male and a female, are the figures in sublime black and white photos. Various positions, delicate hands and strong legs, both one with the ground or flying above the stage. He keeps her with strength, she uses it with wisdom. Harmony. I am hypnotized. I softly caress each page, don't care to read. I am sad when I reach the last one.

I seek for grace and health in my personal volume. They are hard to find. I seek for someone strong I could have relied on, he is hard to find.

No, I won't dive back in misery. I think about where I am. I was found. The black and white gives space to the green of his eyes, and the brown of earth, and the purple and yellow of the wild flowers. I am good.

I turn the last page hoping to see nothing and to just close and forget about it. It was only hope. A large photo of a smiling girl is hidden there. She was dressed up, with make up, hair done and all. She looks familiar but my eyes are glued to her dress. Tight, short but classy, expensive satin with spaghetti straps. The pale pink suited her. She was elegant, the dress fitted perfectly and she wore matching flats. She looked like... the dancer.

My blood started leaving my face. I once had a similar dress. No, it could be a similar dress. Cause mine was from cheap satin, it was too short and a dark pink, too artificial. It was bad tailored and I had an oversized pair of ugly heels on. Nothing close to classy. I looked like a slut.

The 1st and last time I had that dress on was the night I became a real slut. Everything came back to me. The night I was forced to sleep with someone for the first time. The night I was not good at a work I had never claimed. The night a stranger fell on me, taking my innocence on his way out.

I looked again at the image of the girl. She could never be me. She could never wear a dress like that. A dress that was still in a bag, possibly in a locked drawer, in a police department of homicides. There is probably still blood on it. James' blood, evidence.

The night I had to use that outfit, was the night before my birthday. I was leaving seventeen.

It was 12.26 when James' life ended. I had just turned eighteen.

**A/N: **Thank you. Especially the two ladies that insisted for me to continue this story. Thank you. Comments are a need. Please, tell me what you think. I write, but I will continue posting as long as readers believe I should!


	11. Habits of another man

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Eleven**: Habits of another man.

It is 8.30, the sun is up and a soft wind makes me zip my jacket all the way up my neck. It is a good day to be outside.

Billy is seating close to me but I can only see his back. I turn on my side ready to throw my bet. It is just what is left from yesterday's dinner. Tuna sandwich and a spinach salad. My health needed an update lately and I decided to start with food.

Jake had visited me two days ago with a basket full with vegetables. He just said that the "Cullen guest" had left him more than they could eat. I think I can become addicted to them. I don't know how the hell she learned to make such a good garden but it was a very pleasant surprise. The truth is, her presence in Forks is a major surprise. I say major cause I have lived here my whole life. I can count in my fingers the unexpected things that had put the locals in questioning for as long as I can remember.

The first twenty years all I can bring back is the disappearance of a Quileute boy, a strong earthquake, the attack of a bear, when Tony Man, son of the Mayor, became Antonia Man, son of his mother. Then the wife of the now Chief of Police left him after a year of marriage and rumors still say she was cheating on him. Then it was the Cullens who came from Alaska and the great tragedy that teared the family apart a few years ago. The return of Edward Cullen was the latest big thing in the small town.

I feel my bet moving and it is time to defend my reputation. I need more fish. I intend to give that basket back, but not empty. The word reputation is flashing in my head like a police sirene. I wonder, if Jake knew the past of that woman, would he touch the vegetables? Would he accept that job? I had all her criminal record locked in my office as the only one informed officially about her case. I had delivered a whole box with the stamp "CONFIDENTIAL" on every document in there. My long friendship with Carlisle Cullen and our mutual respect left me no choice. I had to be silent about her. After all, Forks is a town with insignificant dramas. A woman who was responsible for the death of a person staying under the Cullen's roof would just make Edward's return difficult. He had promised me he would explain in time. I am a man with great patience.

"Hey chief, I think we have enough." I just nod and start packing but my mind is still on that girl. I only visited her once but I could swear I knew her from somewhere. I had many scenarios about her relation with the young Cullen boy but what was keeping coming back to me was the phrase "second chance" and what my mother Marie was always saying:

"Keep your heart, your mind, and your door open. Cause the stranger knocking could be a lost sheep and not a bad wolf. He could also be family."

I always expected Renee back. If we had a daughter, she could have the same age with that girl...

**A/N: **Thank you. If you are reading this note you have read every chapter so far. I am sure you have things to say, theories, confusion, bad or good moments. Please share them with me, review...

There is a reference to a song I really respect. If you have any idea about it please let me know.


	12. Broken Habit

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Twelve**: Broken Habit.

I can feel heat on my face. I open my eyes and light is attacking my vision. The sun is up. This is not good... It is winter, the sun is up late, after 7am. I am late.

For the first time since I came here, I am late. I know many of his dark reactions. When he is tired, when he is frustrated, when he is angry, when he is...lost. I have never witnessed his reaction about not seeing me in time for breakfast.

I close my eyes for a second and try to remember. I had heard him entering last night. I thought it was after midnight. I had heard the sound of footsteps upstairs and of water running in the shower. I remember noise in the kitchen but... I don't remember opening the envelope. I don't even remember if I there was an envelope in the kitchen. Flash... I did not checked the kitchen counter last night. I forgot to do it. I forgot...

Panic... My heart is pounding faster and I refuse to open my eyes. The stream of light through the blinds is still there. I am late. How is it possible to forget the one and only thing you are responsible for? Is he going to get mad? Am I supposed to appear in the "Breakfast Room" so late? Is he already mad?

I feel tired and almost unable to move any part of my body out of my soft and warm covers. I am confused and disoriented, like having a dream were I can sense the need to react but it seems impossible to. I can't think straight... I wish this is a dream. I search for a clock, any clock, in my mind, hoping that I still have time but I can't find any. I have to know.

I am up and without checking my appearance, I walk straight towards the kitchen. The house is quiet and warmer than I thought. There is no envelope on the kitchen counter but I can smell fresh coffee. He is awake. It has been almost a week since the last time I served him breakfast. I don't know what to do. I think I'm...afraid.

I put my palm on the coffee machine and it is still hot. Then I look at the digital clock over the oven. 12.30. I overslept, but... The coffee was hot, he had overslept too. We were both late and I cannot deny my...disappointment. I had missed him.

I am still standing in front of the coffee machine, my palms on the counter. Should I go and see if he needs anything? He is the one who comes. Should I...But my thoughts get interrupted.

I can feel him standing behind me, so close his breath is caressing my neck. I am dressed in a plain cotton night dress and barefoot. He is way taller than me and his body radiates energy and his smell... I am thinking about apologizing but his hands on my shoulders take me by surprise.

"You are late." His hands are cool and what had started as a soft touch is slowly turning to an almost sensual massage of my bare skin.

"I 'm sorry, I..." I try to speak but his moves are driving me insane. I want to turn and see if he is angry, if I had disappointed him. He places a finger in front of my mouth and whispers:

"Shh...I like what you are wearing." He is touching the strap on my right shoulder and starts playing with it, curling it around his index finger and stretching it lightly while his other hand is making circular patterns on my left hip, over the thin cotton of the dress.

"So soft," he murmurs and I can't know if he speaks about the dress or me.

He suddenly lifts the fabric and I can feel his hand on my thigh. I try to remember my underwear. Simple cotton like my shirt, no bra. The touches on my shoulder have moved lower and the strap is now hugging loosely on my arm. His breath is close, so close to the upper part of my back, he had never been so high before. Still, this is not our routine. This is not our deal.

The hand on my thigh is moving closer to a more sensitive area and I instinctively gasp.

He was there before, I had lost count of the times he had felt my most private part, but still...This was not from the envelope. I need the note from last night. I need the guidelines of this morning. The color, the taste...

His hands disappear abruptly and a thought of him having the ability to read my mind distracts me for a second. It is not the first time his actions are following my thoughts. I think he knows more about me than I know...

He is breathing hard behind me and he stands with his hands on the counter and me between them. He is not touching me now but I feel trapped. All I do is wait.

After a few minutes of silence I can't take it anymore.

"I feel sorry I missed breakfast. It won't happen again." I stop and just stare the coffee machine. I need to occupy my mind and I start rearranging some cups and glasses I had left on the drier. As I stretch to grab a towel, my waist pushes his arm. He still has not moved. But in seconds everything is moving around me.

I hear the sound of glasses breaking and objects rolling towards the sink. There are strong arms turning me around and lifting me. He places me on the counter, his eyes are looking straight into mine. His expression is a mix of seriousness and annoyance. I feel embarrassed. I dared to deny him, and I don't know what he thinks of me.

Unable to look at him, I lower my gaze and look at the mess of shuttered cups and crystals in the sink. It looks so familiar with the mess of glasses I had to clean up each time James was in a bad mood and something had to absorb his temper. The last time, he had smashed more than five empty bottles on the kitchen floor, cause I was late at fixing his dinner. I had no time to inform him that they had cut the electricity. Not that it would make a good apology. I guess I was not done with those glasses yet.

"Look at me."It sounds more of a demand. His eyes are dark and I know why. Lust is filling the air between us. Yes, he is angry and I should be afraid of him. I am.

"I know we..."he pauses, obviously thinking more on his words' selection. "I want..." but he stops again.

"I need you now,"he finally says as he grabs my leg and hitches it over his hip. His other hand is already lifting my shirt and heads towards my center. I try to stay dry. I tried.

He finds the evidence he needs and there is no more hesitation. There is reaping of fabric and kneeling. Strong male muscles are now worshiping soft and wet female parts. There is hunger and passion and more wetness, more gasps and moans, more force. This is new, more wild, but the roughness is not so non-welcomed.

My bare skin is sliding on the counter but he doesn't let me fall. The sun is behind me and parts of his hair and face reflect the light, softening the strong lines, making him look younger. And I cannot resist. I touch the copper locks. They have the humidity of sweat and the smell of soap. I want to run my finger through them. I do. He seems to like it cause a moan escapes his mouth and he looks at me again.

"Do it again," he asks softly, never taking his gaze off me. I do and he lays his head in my lap. His hands are leaving my thighs and he puts them on my back . This time he is higher than my waist.

"I think I need more...More of ..." he trails and starts rising.

I can see him now standing between my legs and his serious expression is back. I expect him to finish his request when I watch him focusing behind me, over my right shoulder. He saw the broken cups and crystals. He steps back and darkness transforms his face. He gently puts me down and stands in front of the sink with his back towards me.

"Please, go rest. I was the one who was late."

I leave him without a word and head towards my room. Once inside, I feel something hard under my feet, next to my nightstand. It is a familiar envelope but I have no reason to open it today. Looks like I had taken the envelope, but I was too tired to open it. The previous day, after my visit to the attic, all I did was crying. I was too tired...

**A/N: **For all the readers who took the time and left me reviews: Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me and I am looking forward for more of them.

Thank you all for reading.


	13. Warmth and ice

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Thirteen**: Warmth and ice.

It's 6.30 and still night. He was away again, a two day trip. Last night he came back really late and brought a friend. My envelope had just a short note in, informing me that his friend Emmet would stay with us for one more night. I am free to act as I wish today. I am making a real breakfast for them.

The fine smell of fresh coffee fills the air around me. I have eggs and herbs from the garden, butter and some sausages. A huge pan is already hot and I am making omelet and a cake.

The day before, I got back the basket I usually leave on the fence for the security guy to take. I have too much vegetables for only two people. This time the basket was full with eggs, homemade sausages and some fish. Our silent exchange had become a weird but comfortable habit.

It's 7.30 and I hear steps on the stairs. I see Edward entering the kitchen, casually dressed, with wet hair and a pair of gloves in hand. After the incident with the sink, there was a feeling of awkwardness between us. A feeling I have no need of.

"Good morning, welcome back." I mean it.

"Good to see you Isabella, but you didn't have to do all this..."

"I know, I wanted to. I am done here. Are you going to bring firewood?"

"Yes, it's getting really cold, December..." he trailed a little. For seconds he just stands there staring at me. Despite the cold, I am flushed after an hour in the kitchen and his gaze burns my face.

"Where should I serve...?" I never finished my question since he walked slowly towards me and I felt his cold hand on my cheek.

"We can all eat here. Emmet will be down shortly. You have some flour here," he says and grabs a towel from the counter. He softly cleans my face like he is taking care of an injury and I all I can think is how his figure fits in my personal space. Like a glove.

I am clean and once the towel is back on the counter I turn to finish my preparations. My intentions are interrupted. I feel a strong hand circling my waist and him standing behind me.

"Are we okay?" His mouth is next to my right ear and the voice has the familiarity of understanding and hope.

I nod in agreement and I can't resist to look at him. I turn towards the source of the hot breath I can feel on my neck, only to see on his face what I felt through his voice. Understanding and hope and other things...

He goes outside and soon enough I can see him walking towards the back of the house, where he had firewood stored. There was central heating, but I was thrilled when we had started using the fireplaces. Their heat was there, alive, coming through the flames, leaving its smell and ash in the air. It "existed" in so many ways. Like I had started to exist. Cause people don't bring food to ghosts, and the man I am leaving with is still looking at me with desire...

The day has finally come when I take the cake out of the oven. Plates, cups, glasses and cutlery are out on the kitchen table. I know he expects me to eat with them but I am not sure how to act around a stranger. Especially since I don't know what he knows about me...

I hear footsteps again on the stairs, heavier this time. The decision to let them eat alone is not going to happen. I don't want to seem rude. Anyway, maybe it is time to remember there are other people out there, who eat and talk. It is just some breakfast and Edward is here. I think I am prepared for this interaction. Someone is moving towards me.

"Good morning...Smells wonderful in here," the man speaks and I turn to greet him holding the pan with the omelet I am about to serve.

I want to thank him, and say good morning, and offer him coffee, and introduce my self, and be polite. The conditions are perfect. A warm kitchen, a warm breakfast, a warmed heart.

Nothing from the above happened though.

The man in front of me is a person I have seen before. On a cold evening, in a cold apartment, in a cold detention cell.

The man's warm smile is not enough to moderate the ice feeling of my own sweat. The same feeling I had five years ago, when the same man had put my hands in handcuffs while arresting me and telling me my rights. I faintly remember he had also covered me with a blanket, and he had carried me in his arms like a child. There was blood running from my feet, on the floor and on him. There were broken glasses mixed with alcohol and clothes torn in pieces around us. The body of the man I was living with, since I was ten years old, was lying on that mess, his eyes open but frozen. Still...I could swear they were focused on me, repeating his last words.

"_I will hunt you down...Wherever you go..."_

There was one piece of glass missing from that mess. The one that took his life and saved mine. I could not remember who was the last one holding it. Not that it would change anything...

What an irony. The man in front of me knows more about me than I could ever tell him.

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**A/N: **Thank you all for reading and leaving me thoughts and alerts. A little special thank you to TeamBella23 and Fillia1990 for recommending the story, and to anyone else who has done the same without me knowing.


	14. Surprises

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Fourteen**: Surprises.

I should have waited longer in my room. Cullen wanted to prepare Isabella for our talk before she sees me. I came down earlier cause my cell was out of network and there were people I had to get in touch. She had any reason to be surprised. Though, afraid would be the accurate verb. She made the right wrong assumption.

We are standing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by the mouthwatering smell of a well prepared meal, part of it though was now on the floor, next to a still hot pan. Just a glimpse of me and the girl's rosy cheeks became death pale, her hands went limp, leaving whatever she was holding just fall. Awkward situations was a great part of my everyday life. But, today, I should have waited …

"Are you here to take me back?" the girl who now looked a lot more like a woman whispers, holding her eyes closed, breathing hard.

"No. You are not going back there...Bella. No." I have to bring back the warmth cause the woman in front of me looks frozen.

"Edward asked me to come. We met back in Phoenix. He is a friend."

"But how..." she trailed, and then looked straight at me, obviously searching for answers. How do I know him...how long...why am I here...

"I am no longer a police detective. I left the force years ago. I am here as a friend. I am here for help Bella."

"Help me?" Her tone was a mix of fear and suspicion.

"Yes."

"About what? Am I accused about something...again?"

"No. I told you before. I am not here as a police detective."

"Then?" The girl was standing away, still keeping a safe distance. She was now glancing outside, like waiting for someone to appear, probably Edward.

"I am here to talk to you about your family. We found your mother Bella."

**A/N: **Thank you all for reading. Story that kept me thinking a lot: **"The Invitation"** by Soul-Over-Mind. Short One-Shot but tell the author what you think cause there is the hell of an open situation there. Link: w w w. fanfiction. net/s/6021462/ 1 / **The_Invitation**


	15. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter ****Fifteen**: Curiosity

My dress is black and huge sunglasses cover my eyes. Edward is standing a few feet away but I can feel his eyes are on me. He had arranged everything in minutes.

I see people around other people. I see hugs and soft touches and hear sobs and words of consolation. The words "beloved" and "heaven" are playing a fight inside my head. A girl in her teens and a small boy are standing next to a middle aged lady and a man old enough to be their father. I recognize familiar colors and shapes among also familiar movements. All familiarity comes from deep, faded memories, now covered with confusion, fear and maybe...hate. They all hold flowers.

My hands are in the pockets of my trench coat. It is too much for the weather here but I need it. I search for the small scarf I keep hidden in my right pocket and the tiny matching pair of gloves. They are made from blue soft wool. They were made for a four years old girl, long time ago. Too personal for a stranger to know them, too personal for the one who made them to forget.

My eyes are searching for signs. Signs of recognition, of rejection, of avoidance.

Nothing.

The woman who is now lying quietly and is about to get all covered with flowers and earth, is already too faraway for answers. Logic tells me to leave. Those people around her are mourning. I am not.

The blue wool in my fists silently whispers through my hands.

_Get closer. See her. She can't do nothing right or wrong this time. She can't do nothing better or worse._

I feel Edward's hand on my back. He had asked Emmet to look for whatever family was left for me.

It was my choice to come here. And it was completely out of curiosity. During the flight the dilemma about a decision was sitting inside me. There was a new family involved, some lives totally unaffected by my existence and a mother unable to play her role anymore. The question is... Do I tell them?

I am not here to cry. I am not here to forgive. I am not here to mess with anyone. I am here for some kind of closure.

I give the pale woman a last look. I already know her story. Serious amount of institutions, addictions and medications. A different name and a different state. The need for a birth certificate was the red fleece thread that lead to the old self of that woman.

The man and the children look devastated. The woman standing beside them looks tired and not well cared. My eyes stay on her face. It is time and she throws some flowers in front of her. For a second she closes her eyes and when she opens them I am there, looking, staring, waiting. All I get is a slight frown, like a thought passed through her head. She stares back a little and then eyes and head and body take a turn. Nothing. I turn and walk away. Someone is kindly calling grandma Marie from the inside of a car but my curiosity is fed enough.

Edward opens the door and the car heads back to the airport.

"Are you sure about leaving?" He sounds anxious but my positive nod takes every hesitation away.

A few hours later I have no need of sunglasses. We are heading back to Forks in a conservative Volvo. As we approach the small town, I observe things I missed when we left. The thin layer of snow has become a thick blanket on every house and street. The green has given its place to white. I look out and Edward is watching me with the corner of his eye. There is something else happening and I am not sure what that is.

It is already dark and now I see them. Little lights behind windows. Little lights on the trees. Little lights in shop windows. I had noticed nothing of all this.

"How is it possible? Was Jacksonville decorated? Is it..." The words come out much more towards my self rather than Edward.

"Yes it is." The beautiful man beside me stops the car.

We both look behind as people come out of the small church, on the opposite side of the road.

"Christmas..." I whisper and I unfasten my seat belt. He follows and we are both out of the car. I stand as my shoes are now buried in snow and a strange feeling appears. It is not strong enough to keep me there. We both approach the entrance and the smell of candles invites us in. I don't kneel and I don't look around much. The blue wool in my pockets feels softer and warmer. We are both standing there for a while and then leave quietly.

I am not sure about my faith and prayers were never a habit. But there is a start for everyone. I guess we both had things to confess and maybe things to forgive.

I hope we did.

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**A/N: **Thank you all for your wishes and for reading. Please review and tell me what you think. Maybe it is time to hear more about Edward. Thank you!


	16. The cold story of more than one end

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter ****Sixteen**: The cold story of more than one "end".

I watch her. It feels natural after all the time we have spent in this house. It is not just a habit anymore. It is a reflex. It feels like my whole subsistence is constantly responding to whatever she does. Sometimes the effect is active when she does absolutely nothing. Like now that she is asleep. It just feels natural.

Our ride back home was silent. I could easily sense the exhaustion on her but mostly...in her. I was surprised by her reactions. Not a tear during that visit in Jacksonville. No curses or demands. No accusations... I guess when someone is already gone the fact remains just that. He or she is gone. The question is...Do you let the ghosts around? I am not sure about Bella's ghosts. I am positive about mine though. I've let them around for too long.

The girl is still in her black dress. Her figure is delicately splayed on the sofa, in front of the fireplace. A light blanket is her only cover. She denied any kind of food. A half filled glass of milk is resting on the old wooden table of the living room. A phone call had kept me away for a few minutes. It was all the time she needed to close her eyes and just breath in a low and steady rhythm. The cozy chair on the opposite side of the table was my perfect observation point.

She had changed. The skinny, tired girl I had met eight months ago belongs in a different world. A world she did not deserve.

My exploration is slow. I have long passed the point of guilt each time I lay my eyes on this woman. I could be accused... Pervert... Dirty... Possessive... Obsessive... Most of all...selfish. I am all that. Still...something feels right when I see her, smell her, touch her. People call it instinct. I call it just ...natural. The darker part of me has a different name for it though. Need.

There is another glass near the one with the milk, shorter, full. The liquid inside makes my darker part more present. After a few amber drops have successfully take some of the day's tension away, I give in. The soft curves of her form is the last thing I see as I finally close my eyes. But it is not about sleep. It is all about awaking. The ghosts have followed me here after our short visit to the church. My attention had to be on her for a while. But I cannot postpone it anymore. It is true. Your whole life can pass through your eyes in seconds. Almost as long as a dream. It just was not one.

Alcohol. Tons of bottles, countless the days. A habit I still keep around, a few glasses only now. My legacy is much heavier though. The liquids were followed by solids. The start was colorful. The first end was white. I had lost the sense of smell. But most important...I had lost the sense of reality. Worst of all... I had no reason to dive in there. It was just easy, it was close, it was there. The bright walls of the hospital in the morning, the dark walls of the streets during the night. A little something to stay awake during the periods of heavy work. A little more to overcome the lost cases. Then just more and as the wrong persons got involved, a lot more. Then one day I woke up in the hospital I used to work, among people who used to refer to me as "colleague", years after I used to be one for them, hours before the second end.

**A/N:** There are more to come soon and I have many replies to give. Thank you all for the reviews and the alerts. My update schedule was lost during the week through obligations, work, and people I had to take care off. For those who feel confused, the reviews from stepheniemeyerrules can be really helpful. I really don't know how she is always so close to what goes on inside my mind. For those who missed those intimate moments between my troubled heroes, I can tell they are far from over.

The thought of taking the story down is still on. My life is complicated right now and I find it difficult to give regular updates. Another reason is the low response in the form of comments. I may be a little minimal in my replies but your reviews can really make some days look brighter. I was thinking of taking it down for a while and maybe post it in a blog or something. Thinking...

**I wish to all of you a happy and safe new year. May all your wishes and dreams come true. You are all precious. Thank you! **


	17. Tears

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter ****Seventeen**: Tears

My eyes are still closed as the last drop burns inside my throat. The glass in my hand is empty but memories come back to fill my head.

Hours. It took my family years to make me "something". It took me a few hours to become a "nothing". It took me a few hours to bring the second end. The red one. But it was not the color of the pills, or the drinks, or Victoria's hair. It was the color of blood.

The second end was my family's end. A family who was searching for me in the dark alleys of a town they didn't know, among people they shouldn't know, all in a car that could not pass unnoticed there. The hours of searching ended in seconds. A girl was thrown in front of them. A man of my kind witnessed the scene. More accurately, he witnessed the sounds but "saw" nothing . The sound of brakes was followed by gunshots and screams. Last thing that followed was blood. A father and a mother, a son and a brother were there, at the second end. We were all in the same hospital the day that followed. I was the only one warm. I would give anything to be the only cold one. But the ghost I had become could give nothing...

Cold. I shiver and I finally open my eyes. The fire is almost gone and the girl is now curled below the blanket but her legs are exposed. And it is there. The present calls and I follow. And I am there, with her in my arms, holding her like a child, walking towards her room. I then have her under soft and warm layers of fabrics, still in her dress. I am about to leave when I notice something precious on her face. The light I was about to turn off makes the drop spark like a diamond.

But...Sometimes tears can be harder than diamonds. I can already feel some of them scratching my face.


	18. These days

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.**

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**A/N: **Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

This chapter is a little longer.

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**Chapter ****Eighteen**: These days...

It is 10.00pm and I'm leaving the attic. My time there is now a permanent part of a daily schedule. I am not trying hard to have one though, it just takes form. I was never used to having so much freedom. One more thing to challenge me and keep me here. Still, there is no comparison to the challenge that is the man downstairs. A man who gave me the key for a place filled with his past and let a room speak for him.

Six days have passed since Christmas. Tomorrow will be the last day of the year.

As I walk down the stairs I cannot resist and make a brief stop. I know that after a few steps, I will be able to see Edward sitting across the fireplace, probably with a glass on the small table beside his chair. The living room is darker than usual. The light coming from the flames produces odd shadows on the walls and the floor. He has all the other lights off.

I think I can breath the smell of the silence that comes with darkness. I am sure this house has more vibrant memories to share. I am sure this house was once the host for the perfect white Christmas.

Except from the white snow, nothing in and out of this place indicates this time of the year. There are no tree and lights, no candles and music, no presents and laughs. There are just two people surviving in here.

The days after my mother's funeral kept us both in a distance. No breakfasts. He is letting me adjust to all the new information I learned about my past. But...There is no attic to speak for me about it.

I walk slowly towards the fire and take my place on the carpet. My back touches the couch, my knees touch my chest, and my arms are wrapped around them. The book beside me is waiting.

This is our latest habit, share the fire late at night, sometimes talking, mostly reading. His eyes are closed. I watch the way the light touches his face, how that warm glow follows the fine lines and creates the contrasts between shades. Green stops my stare. He felt me.

"Need more light?"

I nod "no" and give my attention to the fire. I learned to be bolder lately. I also learned to ask.

"How was it when your family was here?" I still don't look at him.

"You mean like these days?" His voice is low, like mixed with a deep breath.

"Yes...These days..." My voice is hesitant and I want to hear.

"These days..." I watch him close his eyes again, like he is trying to remember. He puts his hands behind his neck and focuses his gaze on me.

"These days there would be a huge Christmas tree behind this couch and music..."

He calmly leaves his chair and stands in front of an old record player. There is already a vinyl disc inside and soon enough a smooth melody breaks the hard silence of the room.

"These days lights would be on."

He opens a drawer and then some candles add their flames to those coming from the woods.

He grabs two small glasses from an old vitrine and fills the crystals with a blood-red liqueur.

"My mother would be sitting on the couch, right were you are now, and my father would offer her some cherry."

He kneels in front of me and puts the little crystal in my hand. I watch him as he clears his own till the last drop. The reach smell of the sweet beverage provokes my senses and taste takes the lead. The second empty glass follows.

"Then he would offer again his hand..." and a hand is now calling me to take it. The hand helps me lift up from the floor and the other one circles my waist. His eyes are focused on my face, like he is measuring each reaction. The liquid inside me works like the blood in my vain. Hot, fast, strong. The proximity adds to the final cocktail. I'm dancing with him.

My moves are shy. His moves are graceful. The grace is shared as he lifts me and keeps me flushed on his front, our bodies almost aligned.

"Then?" My voice is weak as his eyes make circles on my face, my lips both start and end. He lowers me but the contact is still full.

"Then they would kiss and we would smile and call them old fashioned." His left hand is softly grazing my back over my long camisole while his right middle fingers are touching the base of my throat. It is a matter of seconds before they reach the first obstacle.

"What about today Bella? Ask me..." I knew his answers were a tiny part of his family's habits. I also knew that _Ask me _means_ "_invite me." I do, all it takes is my hand on his hair. He needs me.

Feels like we are still dancing as he walks me back and gently places me on the couch. This time he stays higher. This is new, not our routine, not our usual time, or room, or way, but I had invited him.

Once the buttons of the shirt under the camisole have nothing to hide, the man from the breakfast room appears again. His mouth finds new places to explore, new valleys and paths, new tastes to pursue. My hands enjoy the feeling of his hair until he puts them over my head and holds them with one of his. The stretching makes me arch my back. He knows what he's doing. I am more exposed than ever as lips, tongue and fingers play chess on my skin. His hand travels down with speed and soon dives in my leggins. The room is still dark but as I close my eyes all I see is light.

When I finally open them the day is new. The rhythmic breathing next to my ear is calming, the palm on my breast is distracting. The clock over the fireplace never sleeps. We are past midnight. For me, another day, maybe a little different this time. I am less alone. For the world, it is New Year's Eve. Too many wishes for one day. I think I'll pass for the moment.

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**A/N: **I will finish the story. I am really late but I have many thanks to give.

**Smeyerfan **and **PlayOnWards**, along with some awesome ladies from **ADF**, made campfires for this story and helped me have a few words with my insecurities.

**BellaShunshine ** rec'd this "**little known fic"** in her story **"A Thousand Leaves"**, a WIP you should not miss. Her comments were truly encouraging.

I want to thank all of you for your reviews, even those who have doubts. I hope my mistakes are bearable. I still have many replies to give and answers. Till then, thank you all for reading.


	19. Habits of a Town

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.

**A/N:** Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Nineteen: Habits of a town.**

It is early in the morning. I don't know the exact time. The truth...I don't care. All my attention is on the girl. We are still lying on the couch, covered by a blanket. I can't remember who covered who. All I remember is her softness, her taste, her uneven breathing, her warmth. I watch her again. My desire is endless. I know I want more. I know that if I could, I would probably eat her alive.

It was not supposed to be this way.

I was not supposed to be addicted again. I was wrong.

My mind starts the game again. It's always there, never letting me forget.

I can feel it guiding my hand. I touch the soft hair that covers her neck and search for the spot that is hidden underneath. It is round and smooth and has the size of a small button. I close my eyes and imagine the letter. The capital C is still traceable. The burn was deep. Then the image transforms and the silver scar becomes a ring. The C is for Cullen. That ring belongs to my family.

I was always amazed by the power of memory. Emmet had connected the right dots. That ring had witnessed two crimes and had marked one more. The load was too heavy for both the golden item and me. Too heavy. The feelings had no space for sympathy. First came rage, then only hate. Rage for the killer, hate for the girl. I focused on the one still alive.

I watched her all these years. I waited. For justice she was a simple case. For me she was more.

The girl breaths hard and I get distracted. My hand leaves the mark and I carefully leave the couch. She looks peaceful and healthy, so much different from those weeks after she was out of prison. I still remember that old pair of sweats she had on while looking for a place to stay and the cheap uniform at that shitty hotel she was hired. I stayed there. She was serving me breakfast. She knew who I was.

I was not supposed to be addicted again. I am still wrong, but this addiction looks right.

The knock on the door takes me by surprise. People don't come here often anymore. The glass door is between me and a boy I don't remember at all but the huge basket he's caring looks familiar. I open the door and as the cold air hits my body I remember the day. A few minutes later I'm inside. The boy is Father Weber's son. The old priest had not forget that particular tradition. A basket with gifts from the town for the doctor. Every New Year's Eve.

I had just thanked the boy but I did not deserve that basket. Isabella smiles softly at me as she enters the kitchen. A question is forming on her face when she sees the basket. My explanation is brief but my irritation obvious. I dont want to open it. In fact, I want to throw it away. I know why.

Guilt.

What follows takes my temper to a knew area. The girl opens the basket. I see red again. A homemade cake, some pies, small items from the local art center, little parcels. She barely has time to speak.

"Edward, these people..." starts saying, and then all of it is gone. The basket is out, everything is out.

I have my hand on the kitchen counter and I look out through the window. I can't tell if she is even breathing. The pressure inside my head slips through my mouth. Poison.

"You thought those things are for us?" I'm almost shouting.

"You think they sympathize us? That I came back here and things are as before? Don''t you get it?"

I turn to look at her. She seems confused and sad.

"You didn't notice, did you?"

She looks me straight in the eyes and I can tell she starts to understand.

"You didn't notice their faces when they saw us in Church that evening, the curiosity, the pity."

I feel my anger increasing as I recall that night. The judgment, the rejection, the accusative looks.

"They were whispering about us. They know about me. They know about the bad me. What if they find out about you?"

My hands are now on the table in front of her and my whole body is leaning on them, my face a few inches from hers.

"What if they find out the way we are related? Two freaks leaving together, both fucked for life. The basket was for those who deserved it. We are not that family."

I collapse on a chair following with my gaze the way the water in her eyes is about to come out. Another round of guilt. In two minutes I'm out, driving in the snow, doing what I'm good at...run and be wrong.

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**AN:** I missed being around...I hope you are still reading.


	20. Happy New Year

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.

**A/N:** Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter Twenty: Happy new year**

It is almost ten in the evening and a soft melody from the radio fills the room. The snow is again the king of the night, dressing the trees with soft flakes and the ground with fresh white carpets, covering every trace, hiding some steps from the past, waking up familiar scents and memories.

I sit by the fire and the flames take some of the white away. My eyes get tired by the orange nest and I finally close them, feeling dizzy but warm. The heat is tricky and fall in the trap, a sense of security allows me to go back and pick again that basket.

I didn't know what to do. I was abandoned, again, and the torture of a "why" was burning my mind like a scarlet letter on my forehead. The rest of the day rolled like a a child playing in the snow, cold, wet, blurry.

Too many images followed the items of that basket. Him leaving. Me walking for hours. The dark forest surrounding me, the silence threatening me. Then the warmth of two strong arms picking me up like a newborn and taking me out of there is most of what I remember before fever and exhaustion took my senses away. When I woke up, a familiar figure was sitting close to me. Typical questions were answered. I was not feeling very good. I was thirsty and hungry. I was found frozen in the woods. Most important...I was welcomed to stay.

The sound of the car reminds me there is something in the oven. I stayed much longer than we both could have imagined. So long that even the gossip around the town has fainted. I became just Bella, the girl who works at the library.

Heavy keys fall on a small table and manly steps on the old wooden floor make the tiny hall present. He looks tired but the warm dinner brings a precious smile on his face. He is getting older. The white on his head is not just snow. It is easy for me to tell the difference.

"Happy new year Bella," the kind man wishes.

"Happy new year Charlie."

It is a exactly a year since Jacob found me and brought me here. We kept him out of the gossip.

That night, I had asked Charlie another thing.

_What do they talk about me and him around town?_

He looked at me with a fainted smile.

_There are few rumors about you ...Nobody seems to know exactly what you carry with you. And of course they talk about Edward. But they always did anyway. He is a Cullen after all. _

Charlie had paused for a few seconds.

_They always talk about the Cullens. Now rest ...tomorrow will be a different year._

It was.

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**AN:** I was badly sucked by real life. I badly love each word, review, alert you left me. I am here.

**Happy new year to all of you!**


	21. Habits of a life

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.

**A/N:** Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

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**Chapter 21: Habits of a life**

They say the murderer always goes back to the crime scene. I tried not to. I failed. It was like an invisible cord was dragging me there.

At first I made circles. North to Canada, south to Brazil, east to Europe, but I was always close. I went back to Phoenix. One more time. To see, to check, to remember. People in Forks were no fools. Bella and I were not the young happy couple.

I drove around that neighborhood I used to go at nights. It was easy, I was unknown, an addict like all the others not the figure of well mannered, educated, responsible man who would take care of you in a hospital.

I lived it again. The night of the murder, the funerals, the long period in detox, then the girl. I ended up at that awful hotel. I had just followed her there. Emmet had an eye on me. He was afraid I would harm her...and not without a reason. The dots were unmistakable. James had only seen money, his dose, not Esme and Carlisle, not Jasper and Royce. Then Jasper's ring was on the girl's skin and it was all I was waiting for years.

That night the rest of my family also died. Alice is still in an institution in New York, expecting Jasper to come back. Rosalie never spoke to me again. I know she visits our sister. I never told her about Bella. If I did, the girl would die in prison... and I needed her out.

Guilt and logic were fighting in my head the first day she came to my room. I was just sitting on the bed, watching her arranging some coffee and cheap snacks on a tray, her moves calculated, her hair on a ponytail. I was focused on her neck like a thirsty vampire ready for attack. Then I started really "looking" at her.

She was not the teen I had as a figure in my mind, cause I remembered one. A town can get too small when you know what you are looking for. James was older than Isabella in my life. She was a woman.

While my guilt was screaming at me to make her say it, to confess, the man inside me was asking for other things. I didn't know who was the most disgusting, the man or my selfish nature. All I knew was that I had to keep her close and far at the same time, use her... hate her. She lost the job at the hotel. It was not a coincidence, just a little expensive. In a couple of days she was out in the streets. I was there too.

Now the circle brought me back again, but the streets of Forks are nothing like those in Phoenix. You can't find everything easily. And I mean "everything". The last year was full of it, the habits of a life. The night I left Forks I was blinded. The new year found me passed out in a motel near Seattle, more high than ever and I didn't stop.

A year after I'm back, looking like shit after a night out in Port Angeles. I watch as Charlie Swan leaves his house and I'm about to speak to him when I see her in the small house. I had looked for her at mine but it was abandoned.

And I'm there. It is still dark outside, the cold punishing and my body frozen as she opens the door, the smile falling from her face. No, I'm not the chief. I'm a selfish mess and something between jealousy, need and hunger control my moves. She steps back and I stand inside.

"You are here," she whispers, her eyes on my face and I'm not sure it is fear or disappointment but I don't care. I close the door and I have her with her back on the wall, my face inches from hers.

"Tell me to stop," I said but we both knew I wouldn't. She could scream but all I could hear was her deep breaths. I wanted to make them harsher. My hands took the lead.

My touch was rough, urgent, desperate. I smelled like bar, smoke and dirty clothes, and other things. I hated her clean soaped hair, the simple sweater and those used jeans. She looked normal...too normal. And I didn't like it...

**AN: Here again. Love to the girls from ADF. Whoever is reading, come close, tell me what you think...**


	22. The habit of hate

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters, they belong to Stephanie Meyer.

**A/N:** Short chapters. Anyone who is offended by the contents should stop reading. Adult themes, no minors. No beta also. Responsibility about mistakes, mine.

* * *

**Chapter 22: The habit of hate**

It is almost like pain. I feel it. It passes through my clothes, my skin, my mind. He knows how it works. He knows and uses the worst kind…passion.

"You stayed here," he speaks, like talking more to himself than me. "Why with Swan?" the tone comes out hard just like his body feels all over me.

I could write pages as an answer but I knew his only needed a few.

"He helped me. He offered me a room to stay," I answer while trying to understand what's happening, take him in, look at him. I finally do and he's not the one who left me that New Year's Eve.

The man in front of me has come from the past. An older version of that young customer that James used to call "Doc". Tired eyes with heavy shadows, pale skin, tall, thin. He used to come with Victoria, buy and leave. He was mostly trashed but the girl in me was seeing beauty, too much beauty wasted. I wanted to tell him to run away from there. From us… He keeps coming back.

"Do you remember that day at the hotel, the first morning?" he darkly whispers as his left hand pushes the door and the familiar click leave the world outside.

"Yes," I respond but the sock of his sudden appearance has left me confused. His question feels dangerous and weird and matches the look on his face. Almost accusing me of… something.

I try to turn my head and avoid his stare but his palm guides my face to look straight at those almost black eyes. "You truly didn't know?"

It's a simple question. He had asked me again and again that morning.

I didn't. I didn't. I didn't.

I knew his name was "Doc". He said his name was Edward.

I knew he was on drugs. He said he was on everything.

I knew James had marked me with a stolen ring. He knew a lot more. I didn't.

"I didn't," I shouted, my hands pushing his volume frantically, the need to keep the past away unbearable.

"I didn't know it was your family."

"I know," he speaks and his head is now beside mine, his forehead on the wall.

"I know," he pauses and I can feel his chest changing, following his breaths, putting him away and bringing him back. " I hated you," are the words that stab me hard and my fists turn to stone.

"I hate you every day because you were there, they were there. I hate you because you stopped them. I hate this mark that tells everything. I…. I hate it was James. I hate it is you and what I offered you."

His breath is hot on my neck as his hands hold my hips.

He is feeling me up with dare, his tongue pushing right on that spot, on the burned skin.

His voice is harsh as the question leaks out of his lips.

"When did he do this to you?" A simple question, like spirit on a wound. I thought I had told him.

"The day after…"

He seems thoughtful and bothered and his palm presses harder on my waist.

"Why did you stay there?" This is easy…

"I had nothing…No one…" I am pathetic.

"Why do you stay here?"

"I have a job…" I try to talk more, say more but he touches me and everything seems just …less. I can feel he's impatient.

"Has Swan touched you?" the tone almost poisonous as his knee parts my legs.

"Never," I mumble as familiar fingers find the skin under my sweater.

He is breathing hard and a soft moan escapes his lips when my hand touches his hair. I can feel his hand ghosting over the front of my jeans when he speaks again.

"That day, at the hotel… I hated you so much…"

I let him touch me as my mind goes back to that morning…

**AN:** **I know it has been too long. I hope you are reading.**

recs:** "****Head over Feet"** by iambeagle and **"Wisp"** by Cris


	23. Chapter 23

**AN:** I've posted the teaser before in ADF. I post it again cause my life is a total mess lately and I cannot focus on writing. I just need to post ...something and let you know I'm here. Just that...

I will replace this chapter with Chapter 23. Thank You...

**Chapter 23 Teaser**

"I remembered the impersonal room. Curtains were covering the windows and he was behind me. The sound of the tray didn't cover the distinct sound of the lock, a lock that should be kept open for me. I turned and saw him standing in front of the door, a few steps away. A few steps so close…."

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**11.2.2014**

I'm okay. I had and have things to deal with but I'll be here and finish the story.

Thank you all.

Natalina


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